


it's dangerous to go and to listen to what they say

by Anonymous



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: (not between Ed/Os though), Accidental Voyeurism, Future Fic, Light Bondage, Loud Sex, M/M, Misunderstandings, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-17 00:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10582815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jimmy's the newest lackey on Penguin's team, and he learns a lot about his new boss during his first week on the job.A littletoomuch.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [depthsofgreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/depthsofgreen/gifts).



> This fic is a result of a conversation between depthsofgreen and me after reading her wonderful fic, [the sound of your descent](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10573869). Namely, what if overhearing Penguin and Riddler having sex at work was all just a part of the job, and what if newbies found that out the hard way?
> 
> Here's to you, friend, and thanks for all the support. ❤
> 
> Title taken from Zola Jesus' song "Dangerous Days."

First week on the job as The Penguin’s newest lackey, and Jimmy feels pretty good about this whole gig so far.  Only four days in, and he’s already learning so much, drinking in each new tidbit of knowledge like a sponge.  Some of it is basic: where they keep their heavy ammo, what territories are there’s and which aren’t.  Others involve maximizing his chance of living to see his 25th birthday: keeping his reports to Penguin as concise as possible (he’s not a man for rambling thugs), arriving to meetings on time, getting the job done.  Jimmy’s not an idiot; he knows he only has a job because after a run in with another gang, Penguin was down a man.  He knows the dangers associated with working closely with the feared crime boss, who, Jimmy has also learned, deserves every bit of his terrifying reputation he has earned.  It’s all self-explanatory and easily understandable.

The only thing Jimmy simply _cannot_ wrap his head around is why the boss insists on keeping that damn Riddler around the place.

Talk in Gotham is cheap, and everyone has a dime to spare when it comes to the insidious, bawdy gossip revolving around the elites of underworld.  Jimmy has heard more than enough regarding Penguin and Riddler’s turbulent relationship over the years – enough that he doesn’t trust that green-clad, maniacal man as far as he can throw him.  Riddler doesn’t deserve trust, even if the boss has forgiven him and worked out their shit, which is a bit of an understatement, if Jimmy’s being honest. After all, for all of his attempts to appear cool and distant from The Riddler, the boss isn’t as good at maintaining his façade and hiding the true nature of their relationship as he thinks.  There’s an unspoken intimacy in the way they look at each other, like they’d rather be wrapped around one another than standing a professional distance away – a point proven when he catches a glimpse of them kissing the other day, before Riddler was on his way for the night.

Surely it must be only a matter of time before Riddler turns on Penguin again; nothing good can come from this, right?  This isn’t a concern he shares with the others, who seem to tolerate Riddler’s looming presence in the mansion and Lounge with little more than sideways glances his way, and definitely not something he’ll share with the boss (he’s far too new to even dare a ballsy move like that).  If the older, more experienced men on Penguin’s team don’t seem to think Riddler is an immediate threat to the boss, then Jimmy supposes he can trust them on that.

Even if Jimmy gets a bad feeling every time The Riddler flashes that pearly white smile.

***

Tensions come to a head one afternoon when they’re arguing about an upcoming territorial battle with the same gang that took out Jimmy’s predecessor.  They go back and forth, discussing the gang’s hierarchy and usual tactics to try to come up with a good strategy.  Judging by the tight-lipped expression on the boss’ face and the way he has a death-grip on his cane, his mood is growing sourer by the minute.  One of the men, Nicotine (Jimmy doesn’t know his real name but he stinks of cigarette smoke, so it’s good enough) offers some input that actually catches the Penguin’s eye.

“Elaborate on that, Nate,” Penguin asks (demands), and okay, he’s got a name now, good.

Nate launches into a spiel about the weaknesses of one of their hideouts that he discovered when he last had to threaten a guy there, and Jimmy’s about to break into a sweat (he’s not ready to face the tales of Penguin’s tantrums if Nate fails to impress), but then there’s the sound of a door opening and closing, and Penguin’s grip on his cane immediately relaxes.

Jimmy doesn’t need to turn around to see who it is.  There’s only one man in Gotham with that kind of sway over Penguin.

Sure enough, Riddler is swaggering up to the group like he belongs here, giving a low hiss in feigned concerned as he looks from the gang to Penguin.  There’s a brief pause in his display when he notes Penguin’s appearance, but then he’s back into the performance again, all showman smile.

“Ooh, bad timing?” he asks, trying to lighten the mood in a way that, if anyone else had tried, they’d be shot on sight.  Privilege of being the boss’ main squeeze, Jimmy supposes. “Should we reschedule?”

Penguin’s lips quirk upward, just a fraction. “ _Perfect_ timing, actually.”

Pulling back from the table with such force that the chair drags against the floor with a groan, Penguin rights himself and looks at each of the dozen men in turn, fire in those pale eyes.

“Gentlemen, we’ll break for lunch.  Thanks to Nate here, we have a good starting point.  We’ll continue this discussion in half an hour.”

A quiet chorus of ‘yes boss’-es, and then Penguin is sidling up to Riddler, and the two disappear down the corridor, presumably to have lunch together.  Jimmy exhales a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.  Okay, so maybe The Riddler _can_ be useful.

It’s a thought he regrets ten minutes later, when, as the rest of the gang lounges around, eating sandwiches and discussing tactics, there’s a suspicious _cry_ coming from down the hallway.  Jimmy is on his feet in an instant, hand already reaching for the gun in his pocket as he looks around, wild-eyed.

“What was that?”

He could have sworn he heard someone snickering, but it’s soon drowned out by another yell, this one pitched louder, fading into something ragged.   _That fucking Riddler._ He knew, he fucking _knew_ it would come down to this one day; Riddler’s smiles and pleasantries sliding away, revealing himself to be out to a good-for-nothing villain out to get Penguin once and for all. Jimmy pulls out his gun, cocking it as his heart beats a mile a minute.  No one else stands with him, fuck, no one else looks even _remotely_ alarmed.

“Why are you all still sitting?  Come on!” he barks at the others, who all seem vaguely amused for some reason, and _fuck_ what if they’re in on this too?

Fuck them.  Time to be a hero.

Jimmy tears off down the hallway, ignoring the weak sound of someone half-heartedly telling him to _come back, kid._ His head is a buzz of adrenaline, focused only on finding where the Riddler is murdering the boss and putting a bullet between his eyes.  At last, at the end of the hall, he can hear a voice coming from what he thinks is a small guest bedroom.  There’s the distinct purr from the Riddler, all _got you like this at last, come on, let them hear you, let them know I’ve ruined you_ followed by a wet, gurgling moan, and blood drains from Jimmy’s face as he grabs the doorknob, shoves the door open, and lifts his gun, expecting to see the worst.

He expects to find his boss bleeding out from a gun or stab wound, maybe even frothing at the mouth from poison.  What he absolutely does not expect to see is the sight before him.

Penguin’s bent over the bed, hair and opened dress shirt askew, naked from the waist down and choking on desperate little gasps and moans.  His face is painted with blotchy, red patches, the color matching the expensive, red silk tie that’s wrapped around both his wrists behind his back.  And there sits the Riddler, directly behind him, face buried in Penguin’s exposed ass and hard at work fucking him with his tongue like he has a point to prove.

_Holy fuck._

All three men freeze, and Jimmy knows he should look away and run as fast as he can, but he can’t get his legs to move, nor can he look away from this perverse train wreck on lewd display.  Riddler withdraws with a casual grace, lips shiny with saliva, and he doesn’t even have the decency to look _embarrassed_.  There’s an annoyed glint to his eyes and delicate arch of his brows, like Jimmy’s intrusion is nothing more than an irritation that’s preventing him from completing his job, and will he kindly please leave so he can get back to work, thank you.  Penguin, on the other hand, comes alive like a live wire.

“ _Get out!_ ” Penguin spits, face contorted in anger and arousal, and yeah, okay, Jimmy gets the hint.  He lowers his gun, backing up slowly toward the door, still unable to look away, god why.

“Uh, my bad, I thought – I thought he – to you - you know, I’ll just go.”

He blindly fishes for the doorknob, missing it three times in his haste, before he slams the door shut and exhales a hard breath.

_Holy. Fuck._

***

After a minute of contemplating his life choices, Jimmy returns to the group.  He tries to play it cool, even though he feels like a shamed puppy with his tail between his legs.  It works for all of five seconds before one of them gives an ugly, deep laugh.

“So?  How’d it go?”

Jimmy sinks back into his chair, staring at his half-eaten sandwich that he’s not sure if he can touch right now.

“Uhh,” is all he can manage to say, unsure how to properly convey that he just witnessed The Riddler eating out their boss like it was an Olympic competition and he was going for gold.

Nicotine Nate claps him on the back, breaking him from his stupor.

“It’s okay, kid.  We all make that mistake the first week,” Nate says.

Jimmy looks up and sees half the group nodding in sympathy, and he’s not sure if this is a relief or terrifying.

“Really?”

“Yup,” says another one, Martinez, as he pops open a bag of chips.  “I remember my experience.  Went to piss, and bam, that bathroom was _occupied_ , if you know what I mean, man. You just ignore it after a while.”

There’s another loud cry, followed by something that sounds suspiciously like _god yes, Ed, deeper_ and the group shares a collective grimace, eyerolls and smirks included.

“Well.  Try to, anyway.”

“’sides, he’s usually in a better mood after getting laid,” chimes in another gangster, licking mustard off his fingers like it’s totally normal to eat lunch to the soundtrack of your boss getting fucked. “Just.  Don’t tell him that.  Or bring it up at all.  Ever.”

“Great,” Jimmy says, weak and hollow, as he reaches for his forgotten sandwich.

The gang goes back to discussing territory politics, and Jimmy finishes his lunch in silence, trying to figure out how he’s going to look Penguin in the eye when he returns.

*******

_bonus:_

_I iced you a cake_  
_Then I served you a plate, but that ain't what you ate_

Ed presses slow, lazy kisses to Oswald’s tailbone as he comes down from his orgasm, all shaking thighs and breathless mewls.  Os always recovers well after those little _interruptions_ ; all it takes is a good tongue-fucking combined with Oswald wantonly grinding into the bed to bring him back to speed, back to unraveling beneath Ed’s wicked ministrations.  Normally, Ed likes to draw this out: likes to tease Oswald with slow, shallow, barely-there-licks until he’s begging and crying for more.  But time is of the essence today, so he had to settle for getting down to business right away, fucking Oswald with rapidfire thrusts of his tongues until Oswald could scarcely remember his own name, absolutely lost in heat and pleasure and the need for _more, Ed, please more_.  Besides, there’s always their date tomorrow night, when Ed can press Oswald into his bed and give him the kind of attention he deserves.

When Oswald gives final sigh and grows quiet, Ed unties the knot keeping Oswald’s wrists captive, letting the soft silk brush against his wrists in a near apology before falling to the floor.

“He’s a new one, isn’t he?” Ed asks, gently kissing each of Oswald’s reddened wrists.

Somewhere above, Oswald gives a grunt in agreement. “Hired him this week, after the attack.”

Ed laughs, and Oswald nudges him with one foot.

“You don’t have to sound so pleased, you know,” Oswald grouses, though his voice is too slurred and warm to have any bite to it.

Humming, Ed carefully maneuvers Oswald to his back, where he can get a better look of him: vaguely annoyed expression, but mostly a sated contentment, lips bitten-red and come smeared on his stomach between the parted sides of his shirt.

“I’m just saying, it seems like a rite of passage for your employees, don’t you think?  How many have tried to gallantly save their new boss from the big, bad Riddler, only to find you _loving_ this particular brand of torture?”  Ed asks, tongue licking a fat stripe up Oswald’s dirtied stomach, leaving him shivering all over again.

“Too many,” Oswald says, rubbing his face with both hands. “ _God_.”

Ed finishes cleaning the mess with slow, long licks, adding in a few playful nips to his sides to get Oswald to squirm and giggle, ridding the last traces of annoyance from his face.  Their eyes meet then, soft and open and _warm_ , and when Oswald lifts his head in a telltale, silent plea for a kiss, Ed is more than happy to oblige, crawling atop Oswald and meeting him halfway.  They kiss slow and sloppy for a minute or so, wet and with little finesse, simply enjoying the intoxicating contact that sends electricity running down his spine and through the tips of his fingers.

“Our lunch date isn’t over yet,” Ed says as he pulls back from the kiss, smirking when Oswald looks up at him through his thick, pretty lashes, skeptical.

“We have what, ten minutes?” Ed continues, making a show of checking his watch.

“And?”

“Well,” Ed starts, beaming a delighted little grin. “ _I_ ate –”

“ _God, Ed,_ ” Oswald interrupts, rough voice choking as he smacks Ed on the hip.

“- but _you_ haven’t yet.”

“Your lines are terrible, Edward Nygma,” Oswald chides, cheeks flushing, even as he slides his arms down Ed’s shoulders and sides.

“You love them, though.” Ed prowls forward, a jungle cat stalking its prey, hands making quick work of his belt and pants until he’s freed his hard cock, which has been aching for the past twenty minutes.   _You love me, though._

“Mmm,” Os hums, noncommittally.  His hands rest on Ed’s hips as Ed scoots forward, resting comfortably on Oswald’s small chest.  Cock in hand, Ed paints Os’ lips with the precome beading at the tip, smearing it more and more with each slow rub of the head, and Ed can’t help but groan at the sight of Oswald, disheveled, pliant, and messy.

 _I do,_ is the unspoken response as Ed slides his cock between Oswald’s slick lips at last, into the waiting, enveloping warmth of his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> bonus title taken from Little Mix's "A.D.I.D.A.S".


End file.
